


The Only Thing We Have to Fear...

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Getting Together, Homophobia, Keith and Lance meet in an art class and become partners for a project, Latino Lance (Voltron), M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, playlist for fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance laughed and crossed his arms. “Well spill it, Keith. Tell me your biggest fear.”</p><p>Keith gulped. How did he end up in this situation again? How did he always end up in this situation? Why couldn't he have normal High School interactions? Why did it always have to be give and take?</p><p>“My biggest fear is myself.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loner Phase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over _italicized_ foreign language text for translations! (Mobile and tablet users please see the Ending Notes)
> 
> If you think you can, reach out your hand  
> Like all is well and nothing changed  
> But I went through hell to watch you in outer-space  
> \- [Cold War Kids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9L-o81Z-VrE)

Like most seventeen year olds, Keith wasn't prepared for his Senior year.

Even though he had made sure everything was perfect and ready for the upcoming school year, it still wasn't enough to convince him that he was really, truly, ready. There had always been doubts in Keith’s mind about a lot of things, but today they seemed to be overtaking him.

The day had gone as planned for the most part. He had gone to his first two morning classes, had lunch by himself, and was now about to head into his last period class, art.

Keith had tried to convince himself throughout the entire summer that he wouldn't get overly excited or involved in this art class. Of course it was his passion, it had always been more than just a hobby to him. But this would be his last hoorah before he headed off to college to do art for a degree, and he just wanted to do art in this class for art’s sake. Not to impress anyone but himself.

The bell rang to signal passing period was ending soon, and Keith walked slowly into the classroom. Most of the students had already sat in the seats they had chosen for themselves and this left Keith with only one remaining seat at the back of the class. It wasn't such a bad view, despite it being blocked by most of his classmates. But he liked that he could see everything and everyone. It eased his anxiety, or at least a little bit of it.

Keith rested his head on his hands and watched as the teacher strolled in with nothing but a piece of paper. He was pretty tall and had garish red hair and an awful mustache to tie it all together. His get up was something Keith had seen from a nineties sitcom, but who was he to judge?

The teacher cleared his throat to place attention on himself.

Keith sat up and gazed over his peers’ heads.

“Hello, Everyone! My name is Coran. Coran only. Not Mr. Coran. Just Coran. It's my artist title and I'm _sure_ you’ve seen my art in various museums around the world.”

 Silence.

 Coran straightened his moustache. “Uh...right. Since I'm one of the only teachers in this school to take things seriously, I'm assigning a group project on the first day of class!”

 The class made a resounding moan.

 “Don't worry,” Coran winked, “It won't be as hard as you think. The difficulty of this assignment will depend entirely on you. But before I go over instructions, I'm going to put you into pairs. I chose these all randomly, and I will _not_ be reassigning partners. So I'd rather not hear any complaining.”

Keith sighed and waited for his name to be called as he doodled on his notebook. He didn't really understand why his other peers weren't taking this seriously. Did they forget that it was an _art_ class? How hard could it be?

Coran didn't seem like that harsh of a critic either. It seemed to Keith that this class was going to be exactly what he hoped it would be. He guessed that as long as they wouldn't bother him, he wouldn't be a bother either.

“.....you’re partners with Keith Kogane. Keith, can you raise your hand so that Lance can move next to you?”

Keith only stood to attention when he heard his name, and raised his hand. He saw who was supposed to be Lance walking toward him, a bag full of sports gear, and a deceiving sort of smile on his face. His appearance was average. His hair, average. His demeanor, average.

Keith couldn't help but notice that there was something in the way he carried himself. Something about him seemed a bit off. A bit sad.

The slightly taller man sat down heavily in the desk beside him and did nothing but huff and hide his head in his arms. Keith wasn't about to complain about his partner’s apparent aloofness. But he _was_ going to let him know exactly how he wanted this project to go, whether he liked it or not.

Coran knocked his knuckles on his desk to get everyone's attention and started again. “Now, since everyone has found their partners, I want you all to spend some time getting to know each other. You _will_ be tablemates for the rest of the year, so you might as well get along.”

Good. Now Keith had an excuse.

“I know you might not care about this project, but I’m gonna get a good grade on it regardless of the amount of work you put into it.” Keith bored his eyes into Lance’s head, waiting for a response, a nod, anything.

Lance sat up quickly and met Keith’s eyes in a challenge. “Oh thanks for asking _Keith_ , my name’s Lance. Nice to meet _you_ too.” He rolled his eyes and directed his gaze back to the whiteboard. “I’ll help you with the project, I’m not a total asshole. But…” He sighed. “I’m just warning you now, I definitely can be a dick.”

Keith could work with this.

“Well I guess if we’re on the same page then, maybe we’ll actually get a grade that’s something better than just _passing_.”

 “Are you implying that I’m not smart or something? Is it because of how I look? You see one guy at your high school and judge him for the clothes he’s wearing or what he’s carrying? Wow, shallow much?”

“No, not exactly. You just keep making the same boring expressionless face at everything you look at. Or is that just what your face looks like all the time?”

Keith watched as Lance squeezed the sleeve of his jacket, turning his knuckles white. “You better watch your fucking mou-”

“Alright now students, you can get a bit more socializing done later. But right now I want you to listen carefully to my instructions for this project, because I won’t be repeating them.”

Keith turned to a new page in his notebook and readied his pen. He looked over at Lance and saw his eyes start to close. Great.

“In this project, I want you to convey through any medium onto a canvas, the greatest fear of your partner. You both can decide whether to work on it alone or together, but I assume your grade will suffer if you are apart. Obviously, you cannot portray your own opinion of the fear, you must portray your _partner’s_ affliction. This requires in depth conversations with each other, and actual _talking._ So get to it. Your supplies will be at the front of the class when you leave.”

Keith heard a hollow _bang bang bang_ beside him and saw that it was Lance banging his head on his desk.

“Fuck. Not only do I have to do a project with an asshole, but I also have to share a secret with one? I’ve never wanted to graduate more.”

Keith hummed. “Yeah I’m with you on that. But it looks like we might have more shit to do than we could’ve possibly imagined.”

At that, Lance pulled out his chair and rested his feet on the desk so that he could recline. “Alright, so who’s going first?”

Keith faced him. “I think you should. Maybe then you could change my opinion about you.”

Lance nodded. “Hmm...well my dad is really into baseball, and he’s made me play it for as long as I can remember. But I’ve never really been a team player. Pun intended.”

Keith _almost_ laughed. “So you’re saying...you’re afraid of disappointing him?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you realize how hard that’s gonna be to translate through art?”

“Hey, I’m sure Coran isn’t looking for a fucking Van Gogh. As long as we do it together like he said, we’ll pass.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Is that compliance that I hear?”

“Actually...yes. Arguing with you is just wasting time.”

Lance laughed and crossed his arms. “Well spill it, Keith. Tell me your biggest fear.”

Keith gulped. How did he end up in this situation again? How did he _always_ end up in this situation? Why couldn't he have normal High School interactions? Why did it always have to be give and take?

“My biggest fear is myself.”

“So I'm gonna be drawing my first portrait then.”

“No. I'm afraid of my doubt. Of not being able to move forward because I don't believe in myself.”

Lance was silent, and it didn't surprise Keith at all. Whenever Keith opened his mouth he would stop conversations right where he had started them. Socializing really wasn't his thing. That's why he liked to stay alone.

“Uh so…” Lance started. “I guess we’re gonna have to figure out a time to meet if we’re gonna live up to your standards.”

Keith decided to be pliant. “Well, I don’t know how to drive, so I don’t think we could meet anywhere.”

Lance sprung forward. “You don’t know how to drive?!”

“Well I’m sorry my _daddy_ didn’t buy me a lambo to drive to school in, sports hot shot.”

Lance glanced at the clock above Coran’s head after a beat and started to gather his stuff. Keith noticed his face was turned down now. His dad must really be his achilles heel.

“Yeah actually, my dad did buy me my old beat up Honda.” He coughed. “But anyways, we can work on the project here during class. I’m sure Coran won’t mind."

Coran stopped pacing around the class and looked over the students. “Well class, it looks like the bell is about to ring. I’ll see you all tomorrow. I hope that you all have figured out meeting arrangements with your partn-”

The bell interrupted him with a _brrring brrring brrring_ and suddenly everyone was headed out the door except for Keith.

Lance bolted out in a strong stride and didn't even turn his head to say, “See you tomorrow, _mójol_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! For the rest of this fic, the perspective will change from Keith (written by metblink) to Lance (written by daydoodles).
> 
> We really hope that you enjoy and stay on the rest of this ride with us, cause it's gonna be a bumpy one.  
> As of right now we don't have a upload schedule, but we'll let you know on the next chapter what it's gonna be.
> 
> Also, the chapters are titled after songs...and they will have some meaning later in the fic.  
> Feel free to leave comments too! We love concrit around here.
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
> mójol - mullet


	2. Kill The Director

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't talk to girls; they'll break your heart  
> And this is my head and this is my spout  
> But they work together; they can't figure anything out  
> So with the angst of a teenage band  
> Here's another song about a gender I'll never understand  
> \- [The Wombats](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pVssCPuEzbM)

Lance walked out to his usual parking space, swinging his keys absentmindedly around his pointer finger. “Hey Selena,” he mumbled to his car as he climbed in, throwing his backpack carelessly into the back seat.

It wasn't that Keith had put him in a bad mood, exactly, but Lance couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion that this assignment would be a lot more trouble than it's worth. As he pulled out into the street, he sighed and rolled the windows down in an attempt to clear his head. It didn't really work, but drowning out his thoughts to the sound of Blood On The Dance Floor always helped. And, in his own weird way, Keith had only been trying to get him involved anyway.

He tromped through the door at half past four, dumping his books on the table before toeing off his shoes. His mother instantly tutted at him, pointing to the pile of paper he left on the table; he scooped it up and hauled it to his room before joining her back in the kitchen to help with dinner.

“How was your day at school, _mi corazón?_ ”

Lance shrugged a shoulder as he added olives to the pot. “It was alright.”

His mom eyed him. “I know you better than that. What happened?”

“Nothing, really, _mamá_. Just the usual first day, the same stuff over and over.”

His mom hummed as she got to work chopping capers. “Are you playing baseball this year?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, I liked the group I played with last year. I hope they all try out again.” He smiled absentmindedly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“I can tell you love baseball. _En talla_.” She smiled warmly at him, and Lance blushed. “But...you know you can talk to me about anything, _sí?_ ”

Lance bit his lip before mumbling a half-hearted, “ _Tumba eso, mamá_.” His mom didn't reply; she just turned her head, directing her attention back to the cutting board.

-

The second day of school was a lot like the first; Lance drove Selena to the back lot between the gym and the baseball field, threw the books he didn't need into his locker and headed to chemistry for first period. He really regretted signing up for chemistry at eight in the morning, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He got through it, and the rest of his day, like always. Nothing much happened, till he dragged himself to art class.

So, the thing about this art class was that it was meant to be a total blow off class; a class Lance could literally sleep through and still pass. But if the first day had been anything to go by, this particular teacher wasn't the type to let that slide. And yeah, Lance would do his best, but he's never been an artist in the least.

His dejection was probably obvious when he slouched into his seat, because Keith just looked at him and exhaled a little sharper than usual. Keith wasn't an expressive guy, but he got his point across, and most of the time his point seemed to be showing his annoyance.

Coran rambled on for thirty minutes about shading or some shit (Lance was tuning him out, honestly) before he finally said they were free to work on their own. In Lance’s book, that was a perfect excuse to dick around and not do much of anything, but Keith had other plans.

“What the hell, man?” Lance groaned as Keith got out his paint supplies and readied himself with an apron.

He cocked an eyebrow. “We’re supposed to be working on our project.”

“I know, but you do realise it's not due for another month right? It's not like you're gonna turn it in today.”

Keith frowned. “That's not the point, Lance.”

“Whatever.” Lance rolled his eyes. “At least let me pick the music.”

Keith sighed heavily, submitting for once, probably because he just wanted Lance to shut up. Lance dug around in the pocket of his jeans till he managed to get his phone out, turning the volume down and putting it on shuffle.

As soon as the first few chords of “Rockstar” cut through the small space between them, Lance could see Keith physically recoil from the music. “Whatsa matter, _mójol?_ Not a fan of Nickelback?” Keith didn't say anything, just got back to mixing some blues that looked suspiciously like the colour of Lance’s eyes.

Lance, for his part, was pretty limited on medium options, given the fact he couldn't draw for shit and he wasn't about to make a short film or whatever else Hunk was doing in the corner with his dad’s GoPro. He spotted some art books in the corner, and flipped through them distractedly for the better part of the period before he noticed the time. When he went back to their table to get his bag, Keith cut him a look.

“Figure out what you're gonna do?”

Lance shook his head, finally muting his phone and shoving it back against his butt. “Not yet, I think I’m gonna try a collage tomorrow and see how it goes. Now, I gotta get to baseball practise, so see ya later bro.” He gave Keith a mock salute, slipping the strap of his backpack higher up his shoulder and heading to the locker room.

Hunk was already changing by the time Lance got there, so he tossed his bag down next to his friend’s and sighed. “Damn, that art class is gonna be the death of me.”

Hunk hummed from somewhere in the depths of his shirt. “Dude, why? It's like the easiest class we have.”

“Maybe for you,” Lance scoffed. “You didn't get stuck with a total douche for your partner.”

Hunk’s head finally popped out from the mess of fabric tangled around his torso. “Now listen - ”

He was cut off by the stomping of various cleated feet on the concrete floor, and Lance immediately wanted to beat his head into the metal door of his locker. Hunk didn't look any more pleased to see their approaching teammates; or rather, hear them. They weren't bad guys, and Lance liked them well enough, but he couldn't really go along with their...discussions.

“I swear to god, dude,” Chad was saying as he threw his gear into a corner, “her ass is like, the seventh wonder of the world. You should've seen the way it looked in that thong.”

Lance was this close to punching him, he really was. It didn't help when Tyler chimed in with a wolf whistle, but he forced himself to tune out the rest of the conversation. Like, Lance loves girls as much as the next guy, and he's definitely had some conversations with Hunk about which girls in their classes they'd ask out, but he fucking hated it when guys objectify them like that. Which, if he was being honest, was this particular friend group’s favourite pastime.

He distracted himself from punching their skulls in by talking to Hunk, who was clearly just as uncomfortable as he was. Thankfully, it didn't take too long for the rest of the team to come in, so Tyler’s recount of his escapades the night before were cut short.

“Alright team,” the coach said, clapping his hands firmly to get their attention. “Today we’re keeping it light, just need to know where you're all at. Start with warm ups and stretches, then do your throwing drills.” The captain nodded beside him, dismissing them all to their task.

Lance and Hunk partnered up as usual, and as usual they did more chatting than actual stretching. But they were always the pair with the best times at passing drills, so no one could really complain. Practise itself was pretty uneventful, besides finding out that Hunk may or may not have a crush on some girl in his history class. Lance wasn't sure what he'd do with that information, but he'd find use for it later. If nothing else, he could always tease Hunk about it.

After showering and changing back into his street clothes, Lance said his goodbyes and headed out. Selena was right where he'd left her, silver paint reflecting the sunset and making Lance wish he had sunglasses with him. But he always forgot them, so there wasn't much he could do about it. Which was also why, when he saw a familiar mop of hair on the side of the road on his way home, he had to shield his eyes and squint several times before he finally convinced himself he wasn't seeing things.

“Yo, Keith!” he yelled out his window. “Need a ride?”

Lance slowed to a stop, and Keith did the same. He didn't move to get in the car though, just stood there staring at Lance. “You knew it was me?”

Lance laughed at that. “Yeah, man. I'd recognise that mullet anywhere.”

Keith glared at him, but got in the car.

“Where you headed?”

“Home.”

“Uh, where's home?”

“Take a left here.”

Keith didn't talk much except to mutter directions every now and then, and Blood On The Dance Floor was still blaring through the speakers, but Lance didn't mind it at all. In fact, he kind of thought he could get used to it. Maybe. If they were the last two people on earth, because he totally didn't like Keith at all.

“That's me,” Keith said, moving to grab his stuff from the floor of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem! If you ever need a ride, you can, uh. Just call me?”

Keith looked at him like he was insane. “I don't have your number.”

“Oh. Right. Well - ” He paused, finally taking in his surroundings. “Wait, holy shit, this is my neighborhood.”

“What?”

“Dude, I live two streets down.”

Keith’s face remained deadpan, despite the grin Lance was shooting him. “Okay. I'll think about the ride offer, then.”

Keith shut the door and walked into his house, leaving Lance to wonder why he always had to be so cryptic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so from now on, we'll be updating every Friday!! Next week's chapter will be written by metblink :3
> 
> Translations for mobile users:  
> mi corazón - my heart  
> en talla - it's a good fit / it suits you  
> tumba eso - let it go / drop it
> 
> Also if you're wondering what Lance and his mom are cooking it's [ropa vieja](http://m.goya.com/recipe/Recipe.aspx?id=67)


	3. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you thinking about the future?  
> Find yourself in the eye of a storm  
> How you come and go like a spark  
> You and I ended up miles apart  
> \- [Abandoned Pools](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SNy-nYuEnt4)

It was a surprise that Keith didn’t murder Lance at any time during their drive to his house. Lance was tolerable for the most part, and it was nice of him to give Keith a ride home. But was it really worth getting a ride from him if Keith had to listen to _complete shit music_ while sitting in the passenger seat? Probably not. Keith _had_ to do something about it, but he just didn’t know what yet.

Keith’s mom greeted him as he walked through the door, and he hoped that if he walked fast enough past her maybe he would be able to avoid post-school-day conversation and just sneak into his room, and not see her unti-

“Keith Kogane.” Her stern voice echoed through the stairs that Keith was in the process of walking up.

“Yeah, Mama?” Keith sighed.

“I know you don’t try to adamantly avoid conversation with me unless something is upsetting you.” She stood up from her seat on the couch and walked over to where Keith was now standing at the threshold of the living room.

Keith looked at her graying hair. “I’m not so much as upset as I am just pure annoyed.”

His mom crooked her lip. “Is it that Lance boy that you told me about yesterday?”

She always knew. How did moms do that? “Maybe.”

“Honey, if you’re ever gonna change whatever he’s being so annoying to you about, you just need to talk to him.”

Keith turned around. “I know mama. But he doesn't even try. Yesterday was our first day on the project and he just _sat_ there. He was too busy listening to fucking Nickelb-"

“I know hun, I know.” She cut him off before he could finish saying the forbidden word. “And he will _never_ stop listening to fucking Nickelback unless you...talk to him? I don't know if you’ve ever realized this in all of your school years, but you are very standoffish when it comes to talking to people, _or_ making friends.”

Keith laughed sarcastically. “And you weren't that way too when _you_ were younger?”

She crossed her arms. “No. I wasn't. I was more like Lance. I got friends by talking to them and I was notorious for being annoying.”

“Mama, this isn't helping.”

She turned him around again to face her, and finished her thought. “And you know what changed _me_?”

Keith deadpanned. “What.”

“A _friend_.”

Keith tried his best not to laugh.

His Mama smiled at him. “Now go to your room and go do whatever homework you have. I'll call you down for dinner, I’m ordering some sushi.”

Keith nodded and went back up the stairs and into his room. The place was just as clean as ever because Keith would never allow anything to be left unkempt in his room. Messiness was something that got in the way of Keith’s zen, and if everything else in the world was anxiety ridden, at least Keith would have solace in knowing that there was one place he could go to for comfort.

He quickly took off his shoes and his worn leather jacket and pulled out the very first sets of assigned homework from his classes. The first worksheet he saw was for Calculus and it almost made him gag so he threw it on his bed, only to watch it catch air and then float back down in front of him again. The second though, was the rubric for his art project. He suddenly remembered that his canvas for Lance’s fear was only covered in a blue paint he had randomly grabbed from the bin. There was something about the ultramarine color that stood out to him when he saw it, and Keith would never know why he picked such a dark color to cover a canvas with. He decided that maybe he should scope the net for some inspiration, or look through some inspo folders he had saved on his desktop.

Keith booted up his old HP and opened every folder he had ever made. Before he went head first into looking through them, he decided to put on some music and chose something instrumental to keep himself from getting distracted. Nujabes started to echo through the room and Keith couldn't've been happier, even if he was having a hell of a time finding some sort of basis for this godforsaken project.

His mind was then brought back to Lance, and he thought of the look he might give Keith if he were to ever play something like what he was hearing now in front of Lance.

He _had_ to do something about that music.

Keith abruptly ended his inspo search and dug through an old grey bin that had been kept under his bed for extra storage. He knew that his old blank CD’s must be there. It wasn't like Keith organized for nothing.

Once he had found them, still sealed tight in their plastic wrapping, he tore them open and grabbed three.

Keith closed his inspo folders on his laptop and pulled up his MP3 Media Player. He shoved in one of the blank CD’s and carefully but thoughtfully, chose a perfect playlist for each of them.

Keith had never been too big on playlists himself, since usually he found his music through what _his_ favorite artists enjoyed. But he, of course, took great care in making sure that these CD’s were foolproof.

They were ready for tomorrow.

\-------

At lunchtime the next day, Keith had nearly swallowed his lunch whole in order to have enough time to execute the plan he was about to commit. He searched frantically around the lunch hall, counselor's office, and in the gym, but there was no sign of the girl with the info.

Keith had almost given up his search until he walked by an empty classroom on the way to a water fountain. The class made him stop only because he saw a small person sitting alone with only a computer and a small book-bag.

That must be her.

He opened the door quietly and jolted when he heard her voice.

“Is there something I can help you with, Keith?”

Keith looked around the room suspiciously. “Uh yeah...I think so. You’re Pidge, right?”

“That's me.” The small girl adjusted her glasses but kept typing at a breakneck pace. “I can help you get the dirt on any student, any faculty member, anyone. Just say the name.”

Keith couldn't believe that a person people had been spreading rumors about for the last three years had actually existed all this time. Keith and a lot of other people had thought that Pidge was just an urban legend. But here she was in the flesh, already starting to look impatient with each passing second.

“Well I don't actually need dirt, maybe at a later date. I just need someone's locker number.”

“Ooo is someone planning to plant a love letter?” Pidge batted her eyes and pursed her lips.

Keith felt his ears burn. “Not exactly. I just want to teach someone a lesson.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get your panties in a bunch, Kogane. So what's his name?” Pidge stopped her typing and sat at the ready.

“Wait, how did you know it was a he?”

“Lance McClain? Alright I’ll start my search now.”

“How in the fuck did y-”

“Keith.” Pidge turned her attention away from the computer and crossed her legs. “Did you seriously think that you could be around the star pitcher of our high school for more than two minutes without being talked about? And now suddenly you come to me wanting _someone’s_ locker number? It's too obvious. You never talk to anyone Keith, but the one time you do, it had to be one of the most popular guys at our school.”

Keith stood in silence and suddenly felt his mouth dry up. “To be honest, I had no idea he had that sort of reputation.”

Pidge laughed. “Well he isn't anything to be _scared_ about really. It's just that his charisma has taken him through some ups and downs in our school. It's hard to have a class with him without someone in it being deathly afraid of his big mouth.”

Before Keith could have a full on crisis, he remembered to stay on track. “Can I please just have his locker number. That's all I’m asking from you.”

“Yeah sure.” Pidge got back to work quickly and wrote the three digit number on a small piece of paper, placing it into her hand.

Keith walked over to take it, but Pidge closed her fingers around the paper.

“What? Do you think I’m some sort of charity? Don't you have my pay?”

Keith was starting to regret this whole plan of his. “I don't have any money, Pidge. I'm sorry.”

She sighed. “That's alright I guess. You'll just have to supply me your own information.”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you need that? You already know virtually everything.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Keith.” She pushed up her glasses. “But I actually have one piece of information not contained within this brilliant little head of mine.”

Yup. Keith really regretted doing this. “God Pidge, _what_.”

“Why are _you_ putting shit in Lance McClain’s locker? And what are you putting in it exactly?”

Keith heard the _tap tap tap_ of his foot nervously hitting the cold tile below him. “Promise you won't tell.”

Pidge raised her eyebrows. “I won't. Scouts honor.”

Keith for some reason was having the hardest time trying to spit it out, and Pidge’s suggestive stare wasn't helping. “I hate his fucking music, okay? I had to do something to save my sanity because that's what I'll have to listen to for the next month. So I made some mix CD’s. And maybe…” Keith scratched the back of his head. “Maybe he’ll listen to them.”

Pidge was silent, but she still looked like she needed a punch to the nose. “Well that was definitely worth it.” She laughed.

Keith snatched the paper from her now opened hand and headed to art class, her chuckles still resonating in his mind.

\-------

Outside of the classroom, Keith was distracted by a very loud conversation coming from across the hall.

“...Yeah I know man, that girl is a bitch. I can't really get why she would say no to two dicks and some booze.”

Laughter.

“Fuck I mean, we were basically _giving_ her free sex.”

Keith watched as Lance very uncomfortably shifted his weight and nervously rubbed over a vein in his arm.

“I gotta get to class guys.”

“Aw, come on Lance, you still got like three minutes.”

“I’ll see you guys at practice.”

Keith looked down at his beat up vans as Lance walked past him and into their classroom. When he looked back up again, the other boys had already left, still running their mouths.

He followed suit with Lance and headed in right as the bell rang. Lance sat with his legs up on the desk as usual and Keith waited for Coran’s instruction.

Coran taught through class, and lectured about how to blend colors seamlessly through different mediums. It was all child's play to Keith. He glanced over at Lance who was scribbling out his anger violently with a red colored pencil.

“Now students before class ends I have a quick announcement. I will no longer allow you to work on your projects during class time. It's kind of cheating when you only want to talk to each other just because I'm watching. So you'll have to set up some arrangements with your partner on when to meet.”

Coran gathered his papers just like the end of every other class and let the students leave early.

Lance turned to Keith as everyone shuffled out. “So, I guess we’re gonna have to figure something out, Kogane.”

Keith sighed. “I was thinking...maybe we could work on it right now.”

Lance drew his eyebrows together. “Dude, you _know_ I have baseball practice.”

“Yeah but you haven't even started.” Keith cursed himself for letting that sound so hurt. “We have to at least get you somewhere before I let you leave. We had an agreement, remember?”

Lance rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.”

Without another word Lance got up and picked up their canvases. Keith went to the supply cabinet and grabbed some more paints for himself and an assortment of magazines for Lance.

As they sat down again, Keith met Lance’s apprehensive eyes and shoved the magazines toward him. “It might seem like a lot of work, but making a collage is a really easy way to cover a canvas. And you won't ever have to draw, _or_ use any of Coran’s boring techniques. That's if, you're willing.”

Lance scrunched up his face in thought and rubbed at his non existent beard. “Hm. Sounds good to me. Hey, how do you know all of this stuff anyways? You’re making it seem like Coran knows nothing about art.”

Keith chuckled. “I mean I _guess_ he knows stuff. But he was taught classically. He doesn't get to teach us the fun stuff like calligraphy and building comics and macaroni art.”

Lance actually genuinely started to laugh, and Keith felt a spark flow through somewhere in his stomach. He smiled. “So are you in?”

“Yeah!" Lance started immediately swiping through the ratted pages of a Vogue magazine and Keith got the signal that maybe he should start too.

As he painted a grey silhouette over the dark blue, Keith noticed the silence that surrounded them. He had gotten so used to Lance’s music that he felt a little strange not having some background noise.

Keith secretly moved his body around to the left to see exactly what was keeping Lance so quiet. He saw Lance’s hand very carefully ripping out a page of the magazine with a spiral type shape on it. His shoulders hunched forward, forearm tendons pulsing as he cut out the image. Waist and ribs accentuated through a three quarter sleeve white shirt. Legs crossed at the ankle, foot tapping in an unsteady rhyt-

“Is there something on my nikes?” Lance met Keith's gaze to look at his feet, pulling up his pants to inspect for any damage on his white high tops.

“N-No.”

“Oh shit is there a bug or something?!” Lance jumped onto his chair and grabbed onto the desk, searching the ground for something tiny.

Keith looked at the time on his phone. “Lance, I think it’s time for your practice, right?”

Lance pulled out his phone from his pants pocket and a look of pure horror spread across his face. “Fucking shit I’m late for gym drills!”

Lance piled all of his materials and shoved them into his space at the front of the class. As he got his backpack together, he tore off a piece of paper out of a notebook and scribbled on it. “I said that I'd be willing to give you a ride home, so here's my number.” He smiled and placed the paper in front of Keith. “See you tomorrow, _mojól_.”

As soon as Keith knew Lance was gone, he finally felt like he could breathe again. There was just something about being around him. Something that Keith decided to ignore until he could sift through the feeling alone in his room.

\-------

After Keith had used Pidge’s information to find Lance’s locker, he pulled out his multi colored CD’s and fit them through the metal slot. He looked around to see if anyone had watched him and when he thought the coast was clear, he booked it to the back entrance to head home.

He didn't really understand why Lance had offered to give him rides back to his house, since Lance must know that it's only about a fifteen minute walk and a five minute drive. Why did Lance even drive to school anyway? What a waste of gas.

Keith almost walked through the double doors when he saw rain, pouring in sheets down onto everything as far as he could see. The wind was blowing the moisture in through the crack of the door that Keith had opened, hitting him in the face with drops, and he let the gust slam it closed.

Fuck. _Fuck._ There was no _way_ he was going to walk in that. But dammit there was only one solution.

Keith hesitantly pulled out Lance’s number from his jacket and dialed. He heard the first three rings. Then a second set. And a third. A fourth.

_Beeeep._

_Heyyyy, it’s your boy Lance here. Sorry I couldn't get your call. Leave a message for me._

_Beeeep._

Keith put his phone away. Maybe Lance was still at practice. Maybe he was just too busy to answer his phone.

He decided then to wait out the rain, in hopes that it would let up. But after ten minutes of sitting on the cold hard tile, the storm was still just as harsh as before.

Keith pulled out his phone again and heard the same four sets of ringing and the same voice telling him to leave a message. It only managed to record five seconds of silence until Keith ended the call.

He fucking knew it. He knew he couldn't rely on anyone. He couldn't even rely on one measly person at this damn school. He even tried to be open. He tried to be _nice_. And now look what it got him. Nothing. As usual. Now he had to brunt the storm alone.

After zipping his jacket, Keith slammed open the doors and closed his eyes as much as he could to prevent the drops from getting in them. The wind and rain were loud enough to drown out his thoughts as he walked, bracing himself against the gusts of air.

About halfway through his walk, his phone rang and vibrated in his pocket. Keith saw the familiar number appear from his recent calls list, but he didn't want to answer. He just didn't care. He would be home soon. And in his room. With dry clothes. And dinner. And silence.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments!  
> And bonus points to the reader who can guess where Keith and Lance are living!  
> (Hint: It's in the U.S......on the West coast)
> 
> P.S. You can find us on tumblr [here](http://tsukkiwglasses.tumblr.com) and [here](http://irlbo.tumblr.com)!


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